


I'll Always Come Back To This Moment

by CreepyLittleLullaby



Series: Langst (Voltron Legendary Defender) [6]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Amnesia, Bilingual Lance (Voltron), Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Corruption, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Dark!Lance, Homesick Lance (Voltron), Hurt Lance (Voltron), Insecure Lance (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) Whump, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Lance (Voltron)-centric, Langst, M/M, Manipulation, Pining Keith (Voltron), Protective Lance (Voltron), Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 10:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11461803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreepyLittleLullaby/pseuds/CreepyLittleLullaby
Summary: Who is Lance? They call him Lance. But mother calls him Luca. His prince calls him L. L doesn't know who he is anymore. And the way home seems way too long and lonely. Impossible.On my tumblr as well 'iamtheyaoiqueen'





	I'll Always Come Back To This Moment

His long eyelashes fluttered. The blackness slowly fading into the light of an overhead… thing? It was metal and had an arm that looked adjustable. It was familiar, like something he’d seen before. But no. It wasn’t quite like what his mind was conjuring up. The boy squinted in the harsh light, attempting to look around. His limbs were humming, they felt like static. Cold. He couldn’t feel anything in them. It was like he had cotton instead of nerve endings in his body. He flinched, there was something calling out to him. He looked to his left side. Seeing a woman leaning over him. Her long white hair brushed against his cheeks, tickling the skin. But he could barely feel it at all. It was just a sensation that was there. There was no real… connection. He tried to clear his vision and look at the woman, finally being able to pick up more of her features as she pulled back her hood and leaned forward smiling brightly at him in what he was able to pick up a flicker of a thought. He briefly thought it was relief.

“L, my god, L. Thank the heavens you’re alright. L?” He blinked at her. Watching her passively as her hands grabbed the sides of his face. Her thumbs tracing swirls and patterns on his cheeks. He felt a shooting of cold from where she trailed her thumbs. His skin felt cold and different there. But not from her touch strangely. Did this woman know him? Was his name L? Where was he? Who was he? He made his lips move, his voice croaking out. Weak and raspy. 

“W-Who ar-re you?” Her eyes softened with concern, her expression twisting in what felt like concern as she pulled away, him sitting up to follow her and leaning against the back of the bed to support himself. The woman pressed the back of her hand against his forehead. The touch was still distant. He briefly wondered if this was natural for him. “Why can’t I feel you?”

Tilting her head, the woman tucked her hair behind her ear. Yellow eyes looking over him with curiosity and then horror.

“You don’t remember, do you Luca? Luca, please tell me you remember me.” Luca? He guessed L was just a nickname. He blinked, slowly closing his eyes as she ran her long-clawed hands through his hair. He reopened them and glanced down at his hands. They were pure black, the tan skin of his arms fading into rough, almost leather like skin. Long claws instead of fingers. He blinked again, and they were soft and tan. He looked at the woman.

“What am I?” She sighed softly, pressing him against her collarbone.

“My dear sweet Luca, you have so much to relearn. You were in an accident, you’re a warrior of the Galran empire, and you were injured in our latest battle. You’d sustained a bad head injury, but I’d thought it’d be fine. I’m so sorry I was not quicker to getting to you my sweet boy.” L blinked at her.

“Are you my mother? Why can’t I feel anything?” The woman sighed again, looking at him. Causing a small shot of fear to shoot through him. And for a brief second. All he could hear was screams, gunfire, and his own screams. In pain. Fear. He jolted up. “Why am I afraid?” 

She stroked the side of his face, it sent a wave of calm through him. “My son, you have nothing to fear. You might have some flashbacks to the battle, that’s perfectly normal. You’re safe here, I won’t allow anything to ever hurt you again love. As for feeling, you were born with a nerve disorder. You’ll feel things a little differently than others, and it might feel different with the damage you sustained in the battle. I’m sorry. Are you in any pain?” L shook his head. Noticing a small mirror at his side, revealing pulsing blue marking on his skin. Two streaks of blue on his cheeks and a strange design on his forehead of a symmetrical almost pointed cell shape. He glanced at his hands. Still soft and human looking. 

“No… I feel. Strange. But, I don’t hurt.” The woman smiled at him. Pulling away from his bedside and standing up. Holding her hands out to him.

“That’s good my son, let’s take this one step at a time. Starting with the first step. Are you ready dear?” L looked up to the woman who claimed to be his mother, and he looked back to the mirror at his side. Dark skin, brown hair, pointed ears, strange markings. Markings that at least resemble the markings on his mother. His mother had claws, almost like the ones that were wavering into existence every time he even had a glimmer of a thought about them. Maybe the other hands were from his father. L sighed. He’d have the answers in time he’d supposed. So he pulled the covers away from his legs and swung them over the edge, taking his mother’s hand and standing up. Taking a deep breath.

He took the first step.

\---

It turns out the whole business of losing every memory he had, meant losing everything that had apparently made him the man he was. Re-meeting his leader, the one who had christened him into a special squadron of specialized and talented soldiers, also known as Zarkon, the father of his boyfriend Lotor. A tall male with purple skin and long white hair. Both had been devastated to hear of his extensive mental injuries. Lotor the most of all, but Lotor was also the most determined to get them back.   
Lotor spent hours with L, teaching him the customs and culture all over again. Telling him about his mother, who was apparently a gifted sorceress and trusted advisor of Lord Zarkon. Lotor held his hand and walked him through the castle, pointing out certain places and telling him of all the things they had done as children, or accomplishments of L’s on the battlefield. The best marksmen, sniper, and sharpshooter in the empire. Lotor also walked him through every moment of their relationship. Telling him of every happy moment, every fight. And by the end of it. L still remembered nothing, but he knew everything. And that’s what mattered. He knew these things, that was one step of reclaiming his old life that he’d lost. 

L started with his status on the battlefield much to his mother’s worry and pride. His aim was still as true as the stories he’d been told. Though some weapons were harder to gain use of than others, and his hand to hand combat was subpar from what he’d heard. But he was steadily improving with the help of the other Galran soldiers. Helping him regain control of his claws, and his mother helping re-teach him about magic and how to change the environment to his advantage.

Next, he worked on his relationships. He spent time with his mother, who was delighted to have him learning magic with her again. Apparently he’d lost interest in magic as a child once he picked up his first rifle. He’d had dinners with his mother and his Lordship with Lotor. History lessons and play fights with soldiers in his squad, those who’d apparently been his best friends. Having date nights with Lotor to rekindle the spark he could not remember. Which L learned was easier than he’d thought. 

It felt so natural to lean into Lotor’s touches and embraces, so natural to hear his voice whispering praise into his ear. Natural to turn in those arms and whisper sweet nothings right back, slow dance at the parties together. Or even just dance in silence in the gardens of the palace. Just as natural as it felt to finally feel warm. It felt so nice. Apparently, his body was healing, touch bringing warmth, and he smiled easier. Much to Lotor’s delight as the bad jokes and pick up lines slowly came back to L. L smiled as he remembered the first time a pick-up line floated into his mind and he’d immediately used it to flirt with Lotor. The look of his face when L’s words sunk in. It was silent, but then a large grin spread across his lips and he immediately swept up the shorter and tanner male into a spinning embrace, kissing all over the others face in his happiness. ‘Luca, Luca, Luca, Luca, you’ve come back to me, my beloved soldier.’ And L had replied, saying that he would always come back to his prince. Ending with L in Lotor’s arms, Lotor’s hands running through L’s slowly growing hair. Begging L to always come back to him. No matter what. 

L knew, that if anything bad were to ever happen. He’d always come back to this moment.

Happiness. Warmth. Love. 

L hoped that coming back was a promise he would be keeping.

That’s how his days passed for a while, peaceful. His memories, worries, and injuries all but forgotten in the bliss of quiet days. Until he was placed into battle once more, the enemy was close to his home and they’d sent for him while he was with Lotor. Who’d held onto his hand. Pleading with him to not go.

“But, I have to.” Lotor shook his head vigorously.

“Luca, my love, no. You don’t have to! We can stay here, together. Peacefully ruling.” L smiled.

“I have to my prince. I want to win the fight. Bring to you the peaceful world. Bring to you protection and safety. I have to because I love my mother, my lord, my home. Because I love you Lotor.” L looked into Lotor’s eyes. He’d never said the L word before to his prince. Though he’d apparently said it before his last fight. It felt right to say. L leaned forward, sealing their lips together before pulling away from Lotor. Forehead’s pressed together, warmth burst into L’s cold body. 

“I’ll always come back to my prince.” L kissed Lotor one more time before he disappeared from the love struck and broken-hearted prince’s view. That strong and tan back disappearing behind doors and halls. Taking away the light and best part of his existence. The short time he was able to live with the man as his. No, his blue paladin would come back. His soldier would come back to him. 

Always would come back.

\---

The battle was going sour again. They just seemed to be everywhere, even though they were not many. Their forces were apparently more numerous, with other enemies of the empire on their side for this siege. L was doing what he did best. A rifle on his back, his claws out and marks glowing as he fought through the crowds. He’d run out of ammo, he’d given it to his friends. But they were alive, and he was alive. So he regretted nothing from the decision. Even as he gained injuries with each breath, even as the flashbacks were hitting him from all sides. The lions were so familiar it was painful, his ears were ringing and his breath was short. His energy and strength was wearing thin from his constant use of magic and physical strength, but he soldiered on.

He had a home to protect. A mother. A lord. A boyfriend and prince. 

He would not give up.

The markings on his face and his eyes shined brightly as he let out a cry, fighting with more vigor. Protecting his friends and covering them. The hope of morning. The hope of the end of the battle was driving him forward. Until he saw the red one. A paladin. With black hair and hard determined eyes, the traitor of the race. The weapon in his hand was moving forward with the swing of his arm. Straight for Tamara. A Galran soldier on his squad, with long braided hair and piercing eyes. She was the first one to assist him in learning his claws. She was one of the first ones to not give up on him. Smile even when he was unsure of how to smile or give something in return.

Now he knew how to return the favor.

His feet gripped the ground. Toes curling into the metal of the ground as he hated the boots. It restricted him and his movements as he grabbed Tamara’s waist and tossed her aside, holding out his forehead and gritting his teeth to a mean snarl as a searing slash of pain slipping through his forearm. He glared at the shell shocked red paladin. Using the paladin’s hesitation to shift his stance, holding his claws in front of him and growling long and low.

“This will be a fight between us. You’ll stay the hell away from my squad and my home. Even if I have to kill you to make that happen.” And he lunged forward. His claws reaching up to swing down in a devastating blow, if it were not for the red paladin snapping out of it and blocking the hit with his bayard. Holding back the reaching and dangerous black and red dripping claws that were mere inches from his face with both hands. L gasped as the paladin’s boot reached up and slammed into his ribcage. Making L cough and sputter as he was than mounted and held down by the red paladin’s weight. Rage filled L as he struggled from under the man.

“Lance! It’s me! Keith! You have to remember me! Us? The bonding moment! Lance, it’s us! We found you! Blue has been missing you. Me too. I missed you too. Lance! You don’t have to fight! It’s me. Can’t you remember me. Remember us?” L swiped at the man with his claws, making the male back up with a jerk. Making it easier for L to buck his hips up and throw the other male off at him. L skidding away warily as rage built up.

“Shut up! You’re a liar! My home is here. My family is here! And your death will be dedicated to my mother, my ruler, and the one I love!” The red paladin stood there blankly, almost looking through L as he muttered almost silently.

“No, Lance. No. No. No, no, no, no, no. Lance. What did they do to you? What did those bastards do to the man I loved?” The man’s eyes hardened, and L almost felt tremors. There was a voice screaming in his head. So many voices. Mixing with the screams of battle. Lance. Lance. Lance. Lance.

Who was Lance?

Who was Luca?

Which one was him?

“I’ll just have to bring you back.” L didn’t see the hit coming, trapped in flashbacks and swirling thoughts as the blunt edge of the weapon came smacking against his temple. Didn’t see the floor rising up to meet him. Didn’t see the red paladin hovering over him, checking the blood and injury on his head. Didn’t hear the heartbroken and desperate scream that echoed from where the prince was watching the fight on a monitor screen. Didn’t see the claws of his teammates reaching desperately for him. Didn’t even feel the freezing touch of unconsciousness grab and pull him under.

\---

According to the calendar across the room from the medical bed he was restrained on, it’s been almost a week. Enough to be presumed dead by the empire. He’d hurt his mother again hadn’t he? His team. His love. At least he hadn’t forgotten them. No. He’d never forget them again. He wasn’t sure if Lotor or his mother could handle it again if that happened. He would not let them take away his home from him. 

Though, he’d learned they were quite insistent. Even showing him photographs with what was apparently him and the paladins of Voltron. Him being the blue one in place of the Altean princess Allura. Face with a large smile that was familiar, but plain. No markings. No pointed ears and smooth sharp teeth. Rather little dull white ones. Seriously? Why did they think he would believe such a blatant lie like that? It was almost laughable. Either way. He was still strapped to a bed. His hands in some strange restraint to keep him from forming his claws and slashing either his restraints or his ‘visitors’. They said it was a precaution to make sure he didn’t hurt himself.

Seriously? Who did they think he was? What did they think he was going to do? 

He had a prince waiting for him back home.

A promise to come back. A promise to keep.

Yet, that one moment where the promise was made always lingered in his mind when they would come to try and brainwash him into joining their side. Trying to ‘jog’ the memory that their battle in the first place had taken. Once they’d found out L had no memories of the past they had been more eager. Hopeful for him to fall into their trickery. More. Persistent. 

It was tiring honestly. L felt like he was slowly going insane. It was so mind numbingly boring to just lay here day after day. Only being free to sit up and eat under heavy supervision. Often while the dark haired ‘mullet man’ recanted fake memories. Probably trying to lure him into a false sense of kinship and security through trust and friendly gestures. L didn’t want to give in. But, lying wasn’t giving in, right? Playing a role like an actor wasn’t betrayal, was it?

No. It was surviving. He’d played a part he didn’t know a while ago. He could do it again

He just wouldn’t believe in this. It wasn’t his life.

So, he started calling them by name. Giving them insignificant things, like bad jokes. Small talk. Learning to avoid talking about his home. Even in the smallest details. It only agitated them and made them regard him with a serious voice. Telling him that they’d protect him from the Galran Empire. That Zarkon would never hurt him again and would be defeated.

It always left L feeling unsettled. As if something were twisting in his gut uncomfortably.

He always avoided the topic now.

Just like he avoided the red paladin.

Oh how he wished he could just hate the red one. But it seemed there was more complicated things at work with these strange emotions. The way his heart would twist at the sight of the red paladin, and the fact L couldn’t tell if it was in hatred that the red one had forced him here, or other emotions that L did not want to read into. But, slowly, he slipped into a routine with the paladins of Voltron. Gained freedom. Gained a room. Freed hands. It was endearing, the routine. Wake up, eat, joke around, train with the red one. Keith. Flirt. Lean into touches that L was becoming uncomfortably used to.

Lance.

They called him Lance

Lotor called him Luca

He called him L.

Who was he anymore?

His thoughts swirled, causing his claws to form as he sat in his room. His claws forming at the anxiety building up in his mind. Images of warm slimes and food goo in his mind. The stories they shared were all so painstakingly familiar. And each one sent a sharp wince of pain through his heart. A wince that only scared Lance more.

Lance.

He called himself Lance.

Oh god. Lotor. Mother. He was forgetting them, wasn’t he? The brainwashing was working? Lotor’s long hair in the breezes of the garden was a fuzzy image. The cool, soothing touch of his mother’s claws in his hair. The laughing of his teammates. Replaced and made hazy with the images of the paladins. Lanc- L almost screamed as a ripping and shredding pain went through his heart at the discovery.

Lotor, Lotor, Lotor. His prince. His love. His home. It was all so fuzzy. Images of long black hair and metal walls replacing dim and warm rooms. Full of love and cozy scents. The only thing Lance could remember was the first time he’d felt warm. His promise.

The moment he’d always come back to.

The man he’d always come back to. 

The promise was fading away, with L’s memories of home.

No. NO. NO. No nononononoononno.

Never.

L would rather die than betray the man he loved. His home. The love of his life. The mother that breathed life into him. The gardens that withheld secret rendezvous within their branches. The feeling of family from his own team. Warmth. Love. Home. It was all mixing in his mind. Hate. Betrayal. Fear. It was like a poison in his veins.

They were infecting him.

What do you do with a disease?

You kill it.

L’s eyes immediately fell onto the sight of his claws. Black with stains of red. Battle hardened and scarred. Sharp. Ready. So easy to part flesh as if it were the air. L has a flickering thought. Maybe the paladins of Voltron had been right in worrying what the Galran soldier might do with his own claws. Death wasn’t the favored option. But he was nowhere near close to any of the empire’s territory. Nor was he in a place where he could flee with no supervision. The past Champion had made that quite clear. For safety. For his own ‘protection’. Leaving him to simmer in the lies until he was nearly choking on them. Seeing them swimming in front of his eyes. Almost real.

No. This was not the favored option. The favored version of reality left him in his mother’s and his prince’s embrace. The love of home sinking into his bones. Never letting go of him for even a moment. But this wasn’t a favored universe. It was cold. Cruel. And it was the reality that Lance. LUCA. LUCA LIVED IN. Not Lance.

Those claws gleamed as L watched with blank eyes and a strange smile. Before he swiped down and dug those sharp claws into the flesh of his own abdomen with a soft, barely heard groan. Falling gently to his knees as red spilled down. Red like the paladin who claimed to love him. Red like the marks on his mother’s cheeks. Red like reality bleeding from his body. L sputtered, red leaving his lips. Staining them like lipstick. 

“My prince. It’s an honor to die for my empire. But an even higher honor to die for you love. Even if I broke my promise it is for you. My prince Lotor. I love you. Please. Lead us to victory. And I’ll watch over you as you do.” The dark was calm and quite laying there, letting L fall into the memory of home and his promise that he didn’t quite keep. 

A moment he’d always come back to.

The moment that always meant home.

\---

Sometime and somewhere later, the same prince that was drifting in previous thoughts and moments of the blue paladin screamed. Blood curdling and loud. Not unlike the scream when the strong smiling soldier had been seen taken. Smiling soldier. His soldier. His knight.

Dead.

News of how the previous blue paladin had committed suicide spread through the universe like a plague. Finally reaching the ears of Lotor in his castle. Far from his soldier. Far from his life’s love. It caused a chill in the air of the castle as Lotor expressed his rage and grief in loud screams.

Lotor looked up ominously, eyes glowing as he clutched the last jacket he’d seen on L’s body close to his chest. Tears staining it, but not washing away the scent that clung to the material to Lotor’s relief as he held it tightly. Getting up as he held the jacket and glared at the screen. A picture of the gravestone. Half assed. Not worthy of his beloved soldier. Nowhere near showing how loving, beautiful, and amazing the person it commemorated was. 

Voltron would pay.


End file.
